8. Malcolm
Malcolm
J efferson still isn’t talking to me. Not one message.
But granted, I haven’t exactly tried to contact him either.
So he’s not the only one at fault. Still, I figured after a few days we’d at least sit down and have more of a conversation.
Something. But there’s been nothing but crickets. And I’m getting fucking tired of it.
Today, he doesn’t have a choice.
He’s going to talk to me. My company’s handling the renovations on his building, and as luck would have it, I’m scheduled to meet with him to go over the plans.
We’ve already discussed them in detail so I know exactly what he wants done.
This meeting is more of a formality than anything else.
A clever ruse to hide our relationship and keep this on the up and up.
I stand at the edge of the bed, trying to decide what to wear while the morning light spills across the room. Jefferson needs to be in the right mood when we talk today and receptive to what I need to tell him. What I want.
Khakis and a polo. Not exactly the battle gear for winning back the love of your life, but it’ll have to do.
But that’s what today is. On paper, it’s a business meeting.
In my heart, it’s a final shot. A silent promise.
My last chance to win him over before he has more time to get comfortable with my absence.
To replace me. A sharp pain shoots right through my heart with that thought.
The idea of him being with someone else. Him finding a new love has me sick.
I pull the pants on like they’re my armor.
The shirt next; navy, the very one he used to compliment me on without thinking.
He’d always tell me how it brings out the blue glint in my eyes.
I want him to see me and remember something good.
I want something to crack through that wall he’s built up to keep me out.
I’m not na?ve. Seeing him is going to hurt.
But not seeing him is killing me.
We’ll talk about blueprints and budgets, sure, but I’m going to bring us into that room too. Quietly. Carefully. But I’m not leaving until it’s clear I still want this. Still want him. And I’m not taking no for an answer.
Am I ready to take it public like he wants?
No. I’m still scared. Still unsteady in the spotlight of being his for the world to see.
Of my sexuality being out there for everyone to know.
To make judgement. I’m not stupid enough to believe someone won’t.
Hell, I know my parents will. Especially my father.
But I need him to know I’m working toward it. That I’m not giving up. That I plan on standing beside him one day without flinching.
I just hope he’s still willing to wait for me to get there.
I run a hand through my hair, exhaling before catching myself in the mirror. My expression is tight as that worry wrinkle appears on my forehead.
“Get it together, Malcolm. You’re trying to win back your man. Don't have a heart attack before you even get there.” I take one last look and leave the room.
I grab my keys, slip on my watch—the one he gave me for my birthday, and stare at the phone on the nightstand for a beat too long. I know that there’s no text waiting from him. But, I keep hoping one will appear.
“Operation coming out is firmly in play,” I say out loud, as if doing that somehow makes it inevitable to happen.
The drive took longer than I wanted. Every single light between my office and his was red. As if fate is trying to keep us away from each other. Prolonging the torture I’m already feeling.
I park my car and head inside. With each step closer to him, the more anxious I become.
The building is sleek and polished—modern glass exterior, cool stone floors, the kind of place that hums with quiet ambition.
I step through the revolving door, the high ceiling of the lobby swallowing the echo of my footsteps.
My stomach coils a little tighter with every step.
I keep telling myself it's just a meeting in an attempt to ease my nerves. But it’s a lie.
My body and I know it’s much more than that.
I bypass the front desk and head straight to the elevators, hitting the button for the top floor like muscle memory. No hesitation. No turning back. Just me and a straight path to the man who has hold of my heart.
The hallway outside his office feels too quiet, like the air’s holding its breath. Helen looks up from behind her desk as I approach, her smile warm and practiced, fingers pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
“Mr. Knight, how are you?” she greets, chipper as always. “How can I help you today?”
“I’m doing good, Helen,” I say, managing a small smile in return. “I’m here for my meeting with Mr. Silverfox. Should I head in?” Even though I ask, my tone lets her know right off the bat that I plan to head in.
At the mention of his name, her smile falters, not fully, but enough that I catch it. My eyebrow rises automatically as I glance toward his office door, closed, and no sounds of voices on the other side. Meeting my ass.
She clears her throat. “Of course. Have a seat.”
The hesitation in her voice sets something uneasy stirring in my chest. Still, I nod and step over to the small waiting area nearby, lowering myself into one of the firm leather chairs.
I place the folder on my lap and open it, but my eyes don’t stray long from Helen.
Something’s up and I’m starting to get worried.
Helen picks up the phone, her head dipped and hand cupping the receiver, murmuring something too soft to catch. My jaw tightens, and I fidget—one knee bouncing, fingers tapping against the folder’s edge as I wait for the outcome to happen. My eyes shoot to Jefferson’s door, but still no movement.
Five minutes pass. Maybe six. Nothing. I shift in the chair as I clear my throat. Helen shifts her eyes my way, but doesn’t let them linger long.
Footsteps echo from around the corner as one of Jefferson’s managers, Graham, comes into view.
He’s all bright teeth and tailored confidence, moving toward me like we’re old friends.
But we’re not. I can’t stand him. He’s nothing but a fucking ass kisser, doing anything he can to go further in the company.
“Malcolm,” he beams, using my name as if we’re besties, extending a hand. “So good to see you.”
I stand slowly, shaking his hand out of habit and professionalism. Pulling it away, I immediately wipe my palm on my khakis, not even caring if he notices.
“There’s been a slight change in the schedule,” Graham continues smoothly.
“Jefferson is in another meeting right now, so I’ll be assisting you today.
We’ve discussed the project thoroughly so I know exactly the vision he has for the renovations, and I’m fully capable of reviewing the preliminary drawings you brought. ”
I bite back the anger boiling up in my throat. He’s not even going to face me? He knew I was coming. Knew what this meeting meant. Well, maybe not exactly what it meant, but that’s irrelevant.
“I wasn’t notified he wouldn’t be available,” I say, my voice low but sharp. “I can wait until his meeting is done. I’m not in a rush. Or,” I add pointedly, “we can reschedule.”
Graham’s smile twitches, just slightly. I don’t break eye contact. I’m not settling for this. Not today. Not when the silence between us has already stretched far too long.
He will talk to me.
“Any other time we’d love to, Malcolm. Unfortunately, Jefferson’s meeting is going to be rather long and his schedule is full. I know he’s eager to get the plans fully completed so that the renovations can begin.”
I shoot my eyes over to Jefferson’s door, fighting the urge to rush over there and bust into his office.
“Shall we go to my office?” the weasel Graham asks, and I relent. It feels like I’ve been punched in the gut. This meeting isn’t about our personal life, it's professional. Jefferson is truly pushing me away in every aspect, wiping me from his life.
Jefferson can think he’s won today, but he’s only making me more determined than ever. I’m going to find a way to be me even if my parents don’t accept me. I am their son. Surely, when I do come out to them, they’ll accept me.
Jefferson
When I saw he was on my schedule this morning, I panicked. I could have handled the meeting instead of having Graham do it. Been professional and stuck to just talking about the renovation plans. But I wasn’t ready to see Malcolm yet.
I knew if I saw him, I’d cave and fall right back into the same old relationship we were in.
One where I was hidden in the shadows while he lived his life as a straight man.
Stolen vacations, dinner dates that weren’t truly that and sneaking out in the early hours of the morning so no one sees us together.
Graham seeing Malcolm in my place was the only option.
Plus, I knew it would piss him off. Malcolm can’t stand Graham and has made it very vocal on more than one occasion.
A small part of me had hoped that Malcolm wouldn’t have shown up today.
That he’d just have the plans sent over for me to review.
I knew they were perfect, minus a few tweaks.
Before our fight, I’d seen the blueprints in his office.
I call it my petty way of getting revenge on him for making me feel the way I am. I never saw myself at fifty-two being in love with the man I want to spend forever with and having to hide it.
I lean back in my chair, letting my head fall back and shut my eyes, blocking out the fluorescent light. It starts with a low, dull pressure threading its way through the space just behind my eyes.
It begins to throb in rhythm with my pulse, slow and steady, a metronome of discomfort that wraps around my skull like a tightening band of relentless pressure.
I exhale through my nose, trying to will it away, but it doesn’t budge.
Every distant sound, the clack of Helen’s keyboard, the murmur of voices beyond the door, even the artificial hum of the lights—slices through the quiet and lands sharp in my skull.
I rub the heel of my hand into my brow, desperate for relief, but it just spreads wider, blooming like a slow burn across my forehead.
It’s not just a headache. It’s everything.
Mostly the whole shitshow I have going on with Malcolm.
The fact that he's hiding behind a closed door with his sexuality like a coward is killing me. I just wish he had the courage to come out. That our love meant that much to him that he’d have the power to do it.
The only thing I can do is sit here, head pounding, pretending like the love of my life isn’t that far from me. That I could get up and walk down the hall and out him myself. But I don’t. It’s not my place and I can’t do that for him. He has to want to. He has to want us.
And he doesn’t. So I sit here in my office like a prisoner, waiting for him to leave.